


But I know some day I'll make it out of here

by immcrtal



Series: we won't burn out [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, can peter get a hug and a break, obviously spoilers for Far From Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 09:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19664881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immcrtal/pseuds/immcrtal
Summary: "He’s the guy who was expected to piece back the world in the aftermath of the death of the world’s beloved heroes." Or how MJ helps Peter heal a bit in the aftermath.





	But I know some day I'll make it out of here

It’s been 3 months since that whole fucking expose on his life, both as Peter Parker and Spiderman. 7, if you add all the months he hasn’t had a proper night of sleep.

And he knows, he _knows_ from the countless remarks that May has done on the growing bags under his eyes, he knows from the go-to excuse students have for napping in class, from the science classes he had in 9th grade. He _knows_ that teenagers should get 8 hours of sleep per night, even more if they can squeeze some extra ZZZZ’s. But Peter isn’t a normal teen, no he’s Spiderman, the friendly neighborhood hero, the guy who got blipped, the guy who saw his mentor die in front of his eyes from exhaustion, from saving the world. He’s the guy who got ripped to shreds, eaten alive, chewed and spit out by Mysterio, Quentin Beck, in a matter of days. The guy who got blamed for things, for murders, for deaths. He’s a fraud, He’s-

He’s the guy who was _expected_ to piece back the world in the aftermath of the death of the world’s beloved heroes. 

And while most of those things, and all of those lies spread upon him are in his past, he can still feel them some days, clinging, sneaking their way up his suit, _branding_ themselves into his skin. Those days he takes long showers, rubbing his skin until he practically bleeds.

* * *

The patches of skin, that he’s rubbed until he can’t feel anymore, feel slightly less odd, slightly less out of place, and _possessing_ when MJ runs her fingers over them unknowingly.

* * *

Even though, they were able to show the general public, that Spiderman was innocent of all accusations, and that Peter Parker was not the masked hero, Peter still feels like he’s exposed on a grand stage in front of the world at all times. He fears the slightest look might end him. 

It’s usually not that bad, but then one day he has this nasty panic attack. It had been 4 weeks since he’d been back in school. He was on leave during the whole you know what situation. 

It had been 4 weeks since he’d been back, and he was holding it all together thanks to MJ and Ned at his side, hold his hands. And when he finally thought he could let out a breath, his history teacher has to make this slightly inappropriate joke about how he’s glad Spiderman isn’t some kind of terrorist and that Peter is obviously not him. And _yeah_ he pretty much, runs out of the class.

His throat feels clogged, he feels as if he was being choked, god he feels _so ho_ t. His collar itches his neck, his hands fly to it trying, pulling, struggling. The world around him feels like a haze, faces floating a bit, concerned looks twirl around him. He manages to get himself to the washroom, where he falls, back against the wall on the cold tiles of the floor. He stays there, knees pulled to his chest, until MJ cracks open the door asking him slowly if it's okay for her to come in.

It only takes a weak _‘yeah’_ for her to rush in and lock the door behind her. She crouches in front of him whispering something about Ned, being locked in class by their overly dramatic drama teacher. She keeps mumbling, and _“Oh god, Peter, we need to get you out of here…”_ She says lowly as her fingers skate along his jaw. 

She kisses his forehead before rising up to her feet and offering him a hand back to reality.

* * *

They don’t speak as she guides them through back alleys, and uncrowded streets. It’s in the unsaid and unfamiliar that he understands that she is guiding them to her place. 

Peter has been to her place a total of two times, and both times were before they had started dating. And yeah he knows, they’ve been dating for 7 months and yet? Well he’s been sort of busy, and she has too. 

She has been patient, and by his side, while he’s _tried_ to do the same thing for her.

* * *

The lights are off, when they walk through her front door. Her parents aren’t home. 

He remembers hearing her say something about them being too busy to even care about her, and he feels worse.

They shuffle towards her room, her washroom, in the dark, while his hands grip her waist hard enough to bruise.

* * *

In the unfortunate harsh light of the washroom, she gently undoes his shirt, and then gives him a shy look, gesturing his belt buckle. He nods slowly, trying hard to focus, while his mind reels from the low it just hit. His hands reach for his buckle, but he can’t find the strength to undo it. He fights with it for a while before he feels her hands place themselves over his, and take over the task. The sound of it unbuckling echoes off the wall, and makes them both look at each other. He sees the fear and worry in her eyes.

God, he hates himself for making her worry. His hand reaches for her cheek, and he gently strokes it with his thumb. She turns her head into his palm, pressing a gentle kiss there. His heart almost breaks and mends itself all in the same moment. 

She then slowly brings his arm down, and focuses on her initial task. She rids him slowly of his undershirt, and jeans. And when he’s left only in his boxers, he closes his eyes. He hears her suck in a breath, as her fingers dance lightly over the rough purple and red blotches of blood on his skin, that were the result of him scrubbing his skin until he bruised. Her long fingers trace his chest, his collar, his arms, his thighs and _“Oh Peter.”_

She hugs him then, molds her body to his, and he clutches her back tightly. A question hangs in the air, ‘ _Why didn’t you tell me?_ ’ but nothing comes out. He thinks she understands why. She was always so observant, he thinks with a small smile creeping onto his lips.

They pull back, but she touches her forehead to his, and they stay frozen, reveling in the warmth and safety of each other’s embrace. He’s so deeply enthralled by it that he doesn’t notice her moving him to sit on the lid of her toilet. 

He looks at her quizzically as she slowly stands up and takes off her own clothes and sets the shower to an acceptable temperature. 

She approaches him cautiously, as if afraid he’s gonna run any moment, but he doesn’t, he stays put. She offers him her hand again, and he knows in that moment that he’d take her hand in any situation, any given moment, in danger and in peace. She pulls him towards the shower, and they step in together. 

As water pours over them, he sags in relief turning, back now facing her. He has to brace himself against the wall as he breathes in and out. Her arms come up behind him, enveloping him, her chin resting on his shoulder. His hands reach up to cover hers, as he continues to inhale and exhale.

“Let _me help_ you clean up.” She whispers. He turns his head slightly to look at her and sees her inspecting the bruises on his shoulder. Seeing that he turns fully to face her, startling her. She shies away, looking down, but he tips her chin up towards him, and offers her a soft kiss. 

_An answer._

She smiles, briefly curling her fingers around his hair, before taking some soap in her fingers and rubbing down his arms slowly. She does that for his chest, the back of his thighs and does so without much noise. It’s not until she inspects his back closely that she lets out a sob. He knows what she’s come across, a now faded large expanse of new skin, he remembers scrubbing for an hour. He couldn’t shake it away, it stuck with him even after the 10 minutes of scratching in boiling water. The skin was badly damaged, it was as if he’d just gotten a nasty blow from a fucking laser, a blast from Mysterio- _Quentin’s_ drones.

He thinks she’ll stop, and he would respect that decision, he opens his mouth to offer something, anything to console her but then he feels her lips press to the expanse of skin, and his body give out. 

There’s nothing sexual about it, it’s a comforting kiss, a kiss that seems to heal something deep inside of him, and he thanks whatever, whichever god, for putting Michelle Jones, in this lifetime, in his life.

* * *

She pushes his boxers down, and finishes cleaning him up. After she’s done, he helps her too.

* * *

Afterwards, they find themselves laid on her bed, his arms around her waist, head on her stomach, their feet tangled, as she reads a book with one hand and runs the other over, and in his hair. 

He knows that he’s a long way from being okay, but he also knows that for the first time in what feels like forever, he’ll finally get a good night’s sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is, but my heart hurts for Peter, and I know MJ would not stand by and let him go through everything alone. Also I tried describing the panic attack as well as I could, and tried using my own experience with them for the story, excuse me if they come off as inaccurate. 
> 
> As always kudos and comments are very appreciated, let me know if I should try writing happier for them;


End file.
